


I'm Sorry Stevie

by winterschild



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Fluff, Lost Love, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Teacher Steve, Teacher Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterschild/pseuds/winterschild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is an art teacher at a high school in Brooklyn, as well as a private artists.  He is the most favored teacher in the entire district, and all his students love him.  His current class is a seminar class he has kept for all four years of high school, so they all know about the mysterious love and the reason his relationships never go right--they know about the note and the class ring that the muscular art teacher wears on his ring finger.</p><p>A veteran comes to visit Ms. Romanoff's--soon to be Mrs. Barton--psychology class to talk about the war and the VA, when the vet turns out to be Sam’s friend Sergeant James Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sorry Stevie

"I’m sorry, Stevie  
I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, and this isn’t it.

 

James Buchanan Barnes"

 

He never officially told Steve good-bye. He left a note on the kitchen counter of his ma’s tiny Brooklyn apartment after he didn’t show up to school for a whole week straight. Left with this abomination of a departure from an eleven-year friendship was his class ring--a large, bronze circle with a blue stone and the engravement Bucky Barnes.  
Steve cradled the piece of metal in his palm, the note grasped in his left hand stained with tears and sobs racking the small frame of the sixteen-year old boy. Steve felt abandoned--the love of his life left him, and he didn’t even know Steve loved him as much as he loved Steve.  
And in his room--which was torn apart by his own frail hands--lying beneath the hole in the drywall was the cracked frame with shattered glass protecting the last picture of Bucky and Steve.

 

***********

 

“Okay, but Mr. Rogers, you can’t tell us you’re not lonely,” Niklas, one of the students in the front row, argued. Steve gave him an amused look, wondering how this conversation had even come about considering they were supposed to be working on homework in his seminar class.  


 

Steve had been an art teacher at Highland Academy in Brooklyn, New York for five years now. He had easily become a favorite around the district, falling in love with the students and them falling right back.  


 

Art was still his passion, just as it had been when he was sickly and weak. After attending NYU on scholarship for art, his portfolio landed in the hands of one Margaret Carter--Peggy for short--who was the headmistress of the academy that currently employs him and who happens to be highly impressed with is work.  


 

Not only did Steve inspire his passion to his students, he volunteered to lead a seminar class, in which he had mainly the same students for the past four years third hour. This seminar class would be the exact reason why Steve had been placed into this situation, and why the third hour class knew about the mystery man and that he broke one Steve Roger’s heart.  


 

Steve shook his head, slightly chuckling as his students attempted to set him up with the substitute watching over Mr. Banner’s A. P. Chemistry class. “I am not lonely, Niklas,” he declared, “I am perfectly happy with the way my life is right now.”  


 

Mariah, another student of his (and his favorite), rolled her eyes and scoffed, “You can’t stand there and tell us you’re content going home to an empty apartment and your dog every night.” A wave of agreements hit Steve’s hearing aids, and he was considering just clicking them off.  


 

It wasn’t that he had trouble finding a date: Ever since he hit his growth spurt at 17 and bulked up in university, he couldn’t seem to keep men or women off of him. The problem was the severe lack of people he was interested in. No matter who Sam, his best friend, or Natasha, his good lady-bro and his greatest pain in his ass, tried to set him up with, Steve could always pick out something that was wrong with them. The girls were all too small--waists too skinny and arms too thin. They weren’t able to pick him up or throw their arms around his shoulder, and the feministic appearance didn’t really interest him as much anymore. The men were all attractive enough, but either their hair was too light or their eyes were too dull; maybe it was that their voices were too deep, or weren’t deep enough. These people couldn’t joke about that time when Steve threw up on the Cyclone at Coney Island, or when they had to ride their way back to Brooklyn in a freezer truck because Steve spent their last remaining money on hot dogs. These people weren’t Bucky. That was his problem.  


 

It also didn’t help that they all thought Steve was engaged, married, or widowed. His dates would spend a majority of their time together eyeing the ring on his left hand and avoiding asking about the silly old thing--the one engraved with Bucky’s name and proving Steve will always be his.  
“I am actually,” Steve argued, absolutely loving his Golden Retriever Tiger. “I’m just not interested in anyone I find, and I don’t need my students to set me up on dates. That’s what my best friend and Ms. Romanoff are for.”  


 

A student in the back corner of the class raised his hand, and Steve was surprised when Jared--his most quiet student--spoke up, “Maybe it’s because of your ring.” Steve eyes widened, knowing all too well that Jared was right. “And I don’t mean that you wear it, but Mr. Rogers, we’ve all seen the letter that you keep in the bag you carry with you everywhere and know there’s a name on that ring.”  


 

“What does the letter say anyway?” Niklas asked--this wasn’t the first time they pestered him about the letter.  


 

Mariah grunted, turning towards Nik, “You can’t just ask that you idiot! That’s invasion of privacy.”  


 

“I mean,” Niklas started, “we’ve come this far in invading Mr. Rogers’ privacy, we might as well get as much as we can.” Thankfully, the bell for lunch rang and the students all filed out, followed by Steve who was attempting to nurse his growing headache.  


 

Steve rushed to the teachers’ lounge, pouring himself a cup of coffee, and took a seat in the fluffy chair by the window.  


 

“The students try to set you up with Mr. Coulson?” the smirky voice of Ms. Natasha Romanoff questioned. Steve ran his hands over his drooping face, and then met eyes with his other best friend. The firey red-head took a seat next to the large man in order to rest a hand on his shoulder. She pulled out her lunch, and her large, shiny engagement ring gleamed in the light.  


 

Steve laughed, “That thing really could stopped traffic. Clint went all out for you, and I’m happy about that.”  


 

Nat rolled her eye, but agreed, “Yes he did, but it’s not half as full of love as yours is.” Steve furrowed his brows in confusion, about to argue, but Natasha got to it first, “The thing that is taking possession of your ring finger holds the most true love to ever walk this planet. Clint loves me very much, and I know that, but nobody will ever be like you and your ex-mystery man, whom I still know nothing about.”  


 

“And you will never know anything about, just like my students won’t,” Steve laughed, moving to start on his lunch. “So, besides trying to meddle in my lovelife once again, how has your day gone?”  


 

Natasha rolled her eyes once again, but accepted defeat for now, “It’s not too bad. My psychology class has made an arrangement with the VA to bring in a vet to talk about PTSD, depression, and anxiety. We’re in abnormal psychology, and Sam was happy enough to find us a volunteer. He’s going to talk about phantom limb pain as well while he’s here.”  


 

“An amputee, huh?” Steve asked, genuinely intrigued. He always wanted to join the armed forces, however his asthma, heart defect, and hearing aids always limited him to stick with art school. “What time are they coming?”  


 

“The guy is gonna be here all day with Sam,” Nat said, “you’re offered to join us during your seminar if you’d like. I’ve always got extra room for a few more people. Just be aware, James is pretty attractive and your student will attempt to set you up with him.”  


 

Steve chucked, knowing she was right, “You know him?”  


 

“He’s an old buddy--he’s a sweetheart but he’s kinda like you and doesn’t really date; I think he’s got his heart set on somebody else,” Natasha admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “But he is Brooklyn born, and I think you’d actually really like him.”  


 

“Stop trying to set me up with your friends, Nat, you’re as bad as my students, “Steve joked, finishing off his sandwich. “But I think I’m gonna bring the class down third hour and we’ll watch the guy. You said he name is James? How should I introduce him to my students?”  


 

Natasha told him a few more details about the guy before the bell rang for his next class and he made his way to the art studio awaiting the next day when James, the amputee, would come to their school.

 

***********

 

“Can we at least know his name?” Dylan, another seminar student, asked. Steve had been in a more chipper mood than usual, and was happily talking to his students before they had to go down to Natasha’s class for the speaker.  


 

Steve studied his students curious eyes and sighed, “His name was Bucky.”  


 

“Bucky?” Mariah asked, her brow furrowing, “Were you dating a chipmunk?”  


 

“No,” he declared amusingly, “his middle name was Buchanan, so I called him Bucky.”  


 

Mariah placed her elbows on her knees and her hands on her chin, looking up at Steve, “Tell us about him?”  


 

The others leaned in, intrigued, and Steve began, “He was nothing special. Okay,” Steve paused to smile, “he was to me, but otherwise he wasn’t anything special. We met when we were in kindergarten; I was trying to fight this fifth grader on the playground--because I used to fight a lot--and he was kicking my butt. Bucky swooped in, got a black eye, and we were inseparable from that moment on.”  


 

Niklas smiled and said, “When did you know you loved him?”  


 

Steve fiddled with his ring, finger running over the name on the side, remembering Bucky’s eyes, and explained, “When I was 14. He kissed me one night on his trampoline. He had just carried me home from a back alley and was cleaning the cut on my lips. He leaned in and I knew there was something there that shouldn’t have been. We were kids.”  


 

“Kids can be in love,” Niklas added.  


 

“Well, what ever happened to him?” Jared asked suddenly, eyes wide with anticipation. Steve’s eyes darkened and his face dropped. Mariah hit Jared on the arm, telling him it was   
none of their business. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers, you don’t have to answer that.”  


 

Steve shook his head with a sad grin, “It’s okay, Jared. He left.”  


 

Mariah knitted her eyebrows, as did everyone else, and questioned, “What do you mean he left?”  


 

“He did just that. He left me a note and ring, then he disappeared. I haven’t seen him since. It’s been 12 years,” Steve explained, plainly. Just as the others were about to speak, a dark man walked through the door with a bright smile on his face.  


 

“Well, if it isn’t Captain America,” Sam said, coming over to meet Steve in a hug. He stepped away to get a good look at Steve’s face, “You’re looking good these days, Cap.” Steve let a red tint hit his cheeks, but thanked his friend anyway. “I’ve been sent down to pick up a marshmallow and his kids.”  


 

Steve laughed, as well as his students, and retracted from Sam ready to follow him out, “We’ll head down now then. How’s the VA been going?” Steve stepped over to his desk and picked up a sketchbook and charcoal pencil.  


 

“Still zero people telling me what to do, and the guy you’re about to meet just agreed to take a position as a counselor, which I’ve been working at for about six months. So, life’s pretty great,” Sam commented, leading Steve and his students out to the door. “You gonna sketch?”  


 

Steve shrugged, “Would this James guy mind if I did? I forgot to get the newest piece for fourth hour and I’m kinda rushing.”  


 

“James wouldn’t mind at all,” Sam chuckled, hitting Steve’s shoulder, “he knows he’s here for the students, so you’re all good, man.”  


 

Steve was very satisfied with that answer, feeling like he won’t be disrespectful towards this guy; he hates people who disrespect the military. The class walked into the room of Ms. Romanoff’s psychology class and took the available seats in the back. Steve noticed Natasha talking to the vet and her friend at the front of the room, then figured he would greet the man after his presentation.  


 

The man was facing away from Steve, however his large shoulders (wrapped tightly in a red Henley), his dark hair that was shoved into a bun on the back of his head, and his clearly metal prosthetic did not go unnoticed.  


 

Choosing to work on his piece, he took a seat and switched off his hearing aid in order to focus on the outline--he found it easier to do the preliminary sketch without any sound. He noticed movement and saw the feisty red-head of a teacher probably announce the soldier.  


 

After about 10 minutes of pencil against paper, he decided the outline was complete and switched on his aids so he could at least listen to the speaker, which is where he was caught in the middle of a sentence.  


 

“...when they told me at 19 that they wanted to bring me into special ops. I was a sniper--a might fine one at that--a muscular kid, and came from Brooklyn like many of you--of course I could handle it. So, I accepted.” The man’s voice was light, but raspy and oh so musical to Steve’s ears. He regrets not listening to it from the beginning.  
“Our team was the Howling Commandos, made up of four other fantastic men that I considered, and still consider, my brothers. We went all over the world: England, France, Austria, Romania, Japan, Thailand, Germany, and even Wakanda. I had met so many men and women--both dignified and poor--with inspiring and courageous personalities. Then, here I was, just some 20-something year old kid with a gun and good aim.” Steve listened intently to the vet, interested in the missions and the people he discussed. His drawing of his and Bucky’s hands was pulling together nicely.  


 

“...then we made it to Russia. We were fighting a constant battle with the Nazi-terrorism group Hydra; I’m sure many of you have heard of them before. On my 22nd birthday, we got the best lead we had gotten on them in months. We were ecstatic and took action.” Something fell into the pit of Steve’s stomach; he knew this is where it all took a turn for the worse.  


 

“DumDum, my commanding officer, had our mission planned out; he told me it was basic Spec. Ops.: scope out the joint, knocked out the guards, and radio in when it was clear. This was nothing too complicated and nothing I hadn’t done before. But something went wrong. We had a snitch and they knew where we were gonna be. I went out with Monty, another one of our Howling Commandos, and we attempted our mission. One of the enemies met us at the front door--we ran as fast as we could to get away but it wasn’t fast enough apparently. We ran to rough terrain and I fell; Monty blames himself to this day but I tell him everyday that it was my fault; it was slippery and I wasn’t looking out.” The soldier went quiet for a minute before clearing his throat and continuing on--Steve’s heart sunk.  


 

“I rolled off a cliff, turning around and flailing my arm out; the thing came clean off and I couldn’t do anything about it. I laid in the snow for a while, wanting to scream in agony but I couldn’t get anything out. The men who had chased after us had found me after a day or two. I was taken back to their facility and they helped my arm; eventually I was given a less cool version of this thing.” Steve heard the cold metal reflect off of skin and the whirring of the mechanical fingers.  


 

“They tortured me, and attempted to turn me into a weapon. I would love to tell you guys what they did, but it’s a bit too gruesome to ever put anybody through that experience. I barely survived. However, I did. I kept strong willed, and never had to become a weapon. There were days when they would starve me, beat me, attempt to kill me, but I never gave in. They blackmailed me at one point; they told me they had figured out my secret and told me that they were going to kill the most important person in my life. I gave in at that point, fearing what they were saying was true, but it didn’t last long. There were times when I wanted to stop breathing, and I tried a few times, but I didn’t succeed; something kept me going.” Steve wondered what that was; was it a girl back home? Was that the most important person to him? It couldn’t be, Natasha said he doesn’t date, but he did have his heart on somebody.  


 

“Five years after I had been captured, and a week after my 27th birthday, an opportunity was presented to me. Somehow I managed to get free, and I ran. I didn’t stop running even though I was starving, almost naked, and fighting myself to just give up. I made to a small village twenty miles south of the newest facility I had been placed at. I was able to contact the U.S. Army and get out. DumDum rescued me and brought me home.”  


 

“I have something called PTSD; that’s what Sam calls it anyway. I spent six months recovering in a hospital in Washington, D.C. They sent me to the VA there and that’s where I was diagnosed. I suffered from depression when I first returned as well, but I’d rather that than PTSD. It destroys you. I could barely walk into a room with three people without breaking down. I check every person in the room, and you can bet your butt I recognized every exit within this school the moment I stepped inside. Although I’m a bit better now, I can’t even enjoy fireworks on the 4th of July; that sucks because those are shot for my friend’s birthday, and I would like to enjoy them.” Steve froze, feeling his heart beat hard in his chest; Bucky used to say that.  


 

Niklas’ voice came from a couple rows away as Steve listened, “What got you through all the torture?”  


 

“Love,” was the soldier’s response. “This cute little blonde I left behind in Brooklyn twelve years ago.”  


 

Steve’s head shot up to meet the face of the man that was standing at the front of the room. The first thing he saw was the gentle curve of the dark pink lips that he had enjoyed that one night on the trampoline when he was 14. Next was the button nose that turned slightly red when he was sick, and then the eyes.  
Bucky’s eyes.  


 

A mixture of blue, green, and grey: Bright with enthusiasm and light raining from the ceiling. The same brightness he looked for in everyone else--the one’s that he’d admire when Bucky would clean up his face, or tell him how wonderful he was when someone else rejected him. The eyes that made Steve realize he loved Bucky more than just his best friend, but as a lover. Those eyes were his life.  


 

Another hand raised into the air and they spoke, “Sergeant Barnes?” Barnes. “Did you make it back to the cute blonde?”  


 

No, he didn’t, Steve thought.  


 

“No, I didn’t,” Sergeant Barnes responded, sullen. “I never found him; he had moved out after 12 years and hopefully is doing exactly what he wants to do with his life; maybe married with the children I knew he wanted.”  


 

Hmza, a student who sat in Mr. Rogers’ class, raised his hand next to ask, “What’s this guy like?”  


 

You could see the love spread across Barnes’ face, or at least Steve could, “He was tiny. Like real tiny. And extremely sick all the time. He couldn’t hear half the time, and not at all without his hearing aids. He wanted to join the military like his dad had, but they’d never let him in with his asthma alone. But this kid could draw--I hope he’s doing art. And I was stupid.  


 

Another question: “Is your nickname Bucky?”  


 

Another answer: “It used to be.”  


 

And more about this mystery guy, like how his first name was Steve and he loved golden retrievers when he was a kid.  


 

“I know what he’s doing,” one of the Natasha’s students said, smiling. She turned towards Mariah, who was sitting next to her, “He’s an art teacher, actually. And he still wears his ring, by the way.”  


 

Bucky froze, mouth agape, as well as Steve’s, Sam’s, and Natasha’s. Sam and Natasha looked at Steve in anger and shock, probably mad that he had never mentioned he knew a James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky looked at the student with surprise before asking, “How do you know about the ring?”  


 

“Our art teacher, Mr. Rogers, is exactly what you described. His first name is also Steve and he’s always wearing this class ring of his,” it was Mariah this time. “He’s right in the back actually.” The excitement in his students’ eyes was noticeable, and the fear in his was too.  


 

Bucky’s eyes followed the teen’s finger and found the large man, with bulging muscles and bright pink lips. This couldn’t possibly be Steve, well if it weren’t for the hearing aids, blonde swept hair, and those baby blues. He started his way towards the back and Steve watched his every move; their eyes locked with each other, and tears were already gathering in Steve’s. Steve rose.  


 

“Stevie?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse and quiet. Steve nodded slowly, afraid to touch Bucky and have him disappear again. The next thing Steve knew, he was engulfed in a crushing hug, taking the air out of his lungs--or maybe that was the fact that Bucky was hugging him and was actually here. He was scarred, physically and emotionally, but he was here.  


 

Steve was close to Bucky’s ear, “I thought you were dead.”  


 

Bucky began to laugh bittersweetly, “I thought you were smaller. Told you it wasn’t the end of the line.”  


 

And the hug didn’t end. The class in the back watched the reuniting of true love; and Mariah, Nik, and Jared smiled with admiration. Steve cried, and so did Bucky.

 

***********

 

“I missed you,” Steve said, tears daring to gather in the corner of his eyes; he was really hoping they wouldn’t fall because they were in the middle of a fancy restaurant dressed in tuxedos and he didn’t want waterworks on his first date with Bucky. “Where did you go?”  


 

Bucky’s beautiful eyes caught Steve’s as they darkened slightly in the dim light, “I missed you too, and I’m sorry I left without an explanation.”  


 

“You don’t have to tell me about it, if you don’t wanna. I don’t know how traumatic it’s been for you,” Steve mumbled knowingly. He took Bucky’s hand in his across the table--it had been three days since they had reunited and the beginning days were spent with cuddles on Steve’s couch.  


 

The soldier’s head shook, a blush crawling onto his cheeks as he insisted, “No, Stevie, you deserve an explanation. I abandoned you for 12 years, and I told you I loved you through a note, which we also need to talk about.”  


 

“I love you,” Steve admitted, averting his eyes from his best friend, “I have since we were 14 and I never wanted to tell you. I was scared it would ruin our friendship and I wasn’t prepared to lose you like that. It happened anyway though, I lost you.”  


 

“You never lost me,” Bucky chuckled, “you temporarily misplaced me.” Steve laughed, agreeing with the light humor until the situation turned harder. Bucky began to speak, “You remember at that time how my ma was sick. It was cancer, and she was finally getting better.”  


 

Steve nodded and remarked, “I remember perfectly. My ma had to drive both you and Becca home from school for a few months.”  


 

“Ya, she did,” Bucky echoed. “Her medicine was expensive, and without Alexander we would’ve gone bankrupt or she would’ve died.”  


 

Steve let a shiver run down his back and into his neck; he could never imagine Winifred Barnes dead. After his mother died, Winnie took him and raised him as her son like Bucky would be--his family never disappeared, only him.  


 

“Peirce didn’t like me--you and I both knew that--and he wanted to get rid of me,” Bucky stammered, his hands began to quiver. “I suppose his step-son being gay didn’t help his opinion on me either. Pierce, that bastard, knew that he couldn’t kill me or kick me out, my ma would never let that happen. So he did the next best thing--he blackmailed me.”  


 

“Buck,” Steve whimpered; he could feel the pain shake Bucky’s voice.  


 

James interrupted, “No, Stevie. You need to hear this. You deserve to hear this, actually. He blackmailed me--he told me that if I didn’t leave, he would stop paying for my ma’s treatment. She was finally getting better. She was one treatment away from remission and I couldn’t let him stop paying for it. That man told me he was going to send me to a military training camp, where I learned combat and how to survive. He forced me to leave without saying a word, not even to my ma or Becca. You were the last one to hear from me, and I wasn’t supposed to tell you anyway. At 18, I took it upon myself to enlist in the army--once I was free I would come back to my ma and sister. I would come back to you.”  


 

“You did it,” Steve whispered, a smile playing at his lips. “You came back to me.”  


 

“I thought you were gone,” Bucky replied solemnly. “I tried to look for you, but I was told that Sarah had died and you didn’t have a Facebook. I was also half frightened to what would happen if I did come back, and fear of rejection was a lot scarier than anything else.”  


 

Steve’s head shook and his eyebrows tightened together, “I would never reject you. I spent the last 12 years pining after you and praying you’d come back.”  


 

“Even the metal arm and the scarring? I can’t get rid of it,” Bucky mumbled, terrified for his reaction.  


 

Steve grinned, “I wouldn’t want it any of way." He meant it; the scarring on his shoulder was tragic but beautiful.  


 

Bucky’s eyes softened, as well did his smile, and the two men just stayed like that. Their eyes did the talking, and the love was spread across the room while they admired each other. And when the childhood best friends turned lovers entered Steve’s apartment as Tiger barked at them, the love was felt. When Bucky softly kneaded into Steve and the soft moans escaped the blond’s lips, the love was felt. When Steve’s hand knocked the picture of teenage Steve and Bucky off the nightstand out of pure pleasure, the same one that had been broken 12 years ago, the love was felt. When the words “‘til the end of the line” faltered at the base of brunet’s mouth as he pulled his artist closer, the love was felt. And way into the following nights, when Bucky’s nightmares startled them both awake, or when the peacefulness filled the small Brooklyn apartment, the love grew as New York City was swept with the feeling of a 12 year lost love.

 

***********

 

“You guys know that you aren’t supposed to be messing around while Mr. Rogers is gone at Ms. Romanoff’s wedding!” Mariah argued, giving a pointed look Nik and Hmza. “We’re going to get in trouble if he finds out we were rattling through his art supplies without his consent.”  


 

Niklas rolled his eyes, knowing very well that nobody was going to be getting in trouble anytime soon. Ever since Mr. Rogers had found his Bucky again, he had been extra kind to everyone, which also meant no punishment.  


 

“Will you calm down, goody two-shoes; Rogers has been way too chipper since he found Bucky and has spent every waking hour that he can with the man,” Hmza commented, continue to rummage through the cupboard next to Steve’s desk. His words weren’t an exaggeration, every second he could, Steve was with Bucky. It had been five months since their reuniting, and Sergeant Barnes had delivered lunch to his love every day--he never missed one.  


 

The class had learned to love Bucky has much as they loved Steve, and often times Bucky would come in and tell them stories about his war days during seminar; the students were sad they were graduating in a little over a month.  


 

This was the happiest they had ever seen their beloved teacher, and none of them could be more excited for them; Steve still wore the ring, and the students were ecstatic to find out when it would be replaced by a new one (It was June, by the way--Bucky had showed the class when Steve went to the bathroom. Bucky said they had wasted enough time and that they were all invited to the wedding).  


 

Nik reached onto the top shelf, feeling his hand around for the new paint brushes as he exclaimed, “Hmza is right. We’ll be fine; I just want the new paint brushes.” Just as his words stopped, so did their hearts as the shelf came tumbling down and creating a dusty mess of art supplies and papers.  


 

“Oh! Now you’ve done it, Nik,” Mariah yelled, covering her face with her hands. Sometimes she didn’t know how she handled her idiot of a boyfriend. They all bent down, quickly cleaning up the scattered pile when a piece of paper floated to the top of Nik’s head.  


 

He reached for it and gave it a quick glance over. He didn’t quite understand what it was until he saw the signature at the bottom of the page.  
It was the letter.  


 

“Holy shit!” Nik screamed, excitement radiating off of him. The other two kids jumped, giving the boy a confused looked. “I found it! Look at it.” He turned the sheet around as the other two scanned the document as well before both their eyes widened in glee.  


 

The three huddled closer; they had found the letter that started it all. The began to skim it when Nik pulled the paper away from their wandering eyes.  
“Hold on a sec,” he sighed, closing his eyes momentarily until they reopened with shame. “We can’t read this. This is for Steve and Bucky only. Not us. I say we clean up the mess and put it back like it never happened.”  


 

Mariah smiled at him proudly, landing a kiss on his cheek, “I agree.”  


 

“But we finally got this far!” Hmza reasoned, but ultimately gave in and began picking everything up. When it was all cleared, Nik gently placed the folded letter on the back of the shelf, remaining unread by anyone else but the two who started the greatest love story of all times.  


 

The words were slowly crafted on the paper, and sat peacefully as it read:

 

 

"I wish it didn’t have to be like this; I snuck in while you were at school and your ma was at work--you really need to start locking that window, by the way. Somebody’s gonna try to break in one day and you’re too small to defend yourself, kid, and I can’t be here to finish the ropes for you. That don’t matter none though because I’m avoiding the subject, Stevie.  


 

I haven’t been to school in a while, and I left you no explanation. I’m still not leavin’ you an explanation because I can’t and I’m writing this in the dark because Pierce can’t know this is happening.  


 

I won’t be back--I don’t know when I will be back or if I’ll ever make it back even. That is why Imma chose the shittiest way to tell you this, and that’s not face to face. But I’m gonna tell you because I need you to know all that you’ve meant to me in the past eleven years.  


 

I love you.  


 

I know you know I do, but I don’t mean I love you like I love Rebecca, or Ma, or Gabe. No, I love you like Jack loves Rose; like Romeo loves Juliet; like Sarah loved, and still loves, Joseph.  


 

I want to take you away, and hold your hand, and pull you under the moonlight to dance in the rain, even though I wouldn't keep you out too long, Stevie, because you’d get sick. I love you until I’m sick to the stomach, because I can’t pull you over in the hallway to kiss those beautiful pink lips of yours. I’m sad that I can’t run my hands over your gorgeous, slim body--you’ve always been beautiful to me. All those girls are crazy to ever reject you.  


 

I kissed you when we were fourteen, and I know you felt that spark.  


 

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before it was too late, Stevie, but I was always afraid you wouldn’t feel the same. But I love you.

I’m sorry, Stevie  
I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, and this isn’t it.

 

James Buchanan Barnes"


End file.
